Primal Shift: Volume 1 (A Post Apocalyptic Thriller)

by Griffin Hayes

  “You liked to cook?”

  “Me? Hell no,” Larry said. “I had a chef who would make all my meals.”

  “Oh.” Bud studied his beans. “I can see how that would be hard. What is it you did in the world, to make a living, I mean?”

  “I founded a company. Ran it for about 20 years. Became publicly traded five years ago and practically overnight I went from having a few million to having more money than I ever dreamed of. Grew up not far from here. Played more than my share of rackets growing up, but let me tell you, nothing ever beat Wall Street. Now there’s one scam that puts everything else I’ve ever done to shame. Easy come and easy go, right, Bud? What took me half a lifetime to build went poof in less than five minutes. But tough titty, said the kitty, right?”

  “If you still have family here in Chicago, I don’t see why we couldn’t swing by and ... ”

  “No, Bud, they’re all dead, and even if they aren’t, they should be.”

  They were quiet for a moment. Then Bud spoke, probably to cut the tension.

  “To grow a company like that must have really taken something.”

  “Oh, Nutrilife wasn’t my first. Came to New York in the late ‘80s and sank everything I had into a tiny bar. Could barely afford the rent till I started hosting wet T-shirt contests, paying girls with huge racks to come down, pretending to be customers. Then I got another bright idea: Why not turn the place into a strip joint? Turns out it wasn’t a good idea, it was a fucking great idea. Had so much money I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was a king and then that son of a bitch came along.”

  Bud wasn’t eating anymore either, he was so wrapped up in Larry’s story. “Who came along?”

  “That good for nothin’ Rudy Giuliani. Bastard banned strip joints and sex shops from being anywhere near residential areas. It’s New York City, for Christ’s sake. Residential areas are everywhere. He was a smart son of a bitch, I’ll give him that. We moved, but the business never recovered. Half my girls were flying high on coke, and every two weeks I’d have the cops giving me a hard time. Fire department came around every month, and those mean bastards were ready to fine your ass for the smallest infraction. Make your life miserable. That’s all they were trying to do, drive me crazy – and it worked. I closed up shop not long after.”

  “What happened to the girls?”

  “Fucked if I know. Maybe they became prostitutes.”

  The frown on Bud’s face became more pronounced.

  “But I got out of that and moved into health food, so I guess I owe that Giuliani some kind of credit.”

  “I envy you,” Bud said, abandoning what was left of his beans on the dash.

  Larry let out a sharp little laugh. “Yeah, most guys wish they could own a strip joint. Let me tell you something, those hoes aren’t so pretty when they’re strung out on heroin and pulling at each other’s hair backstage.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” Bud said. “I’d give anything to remember what the heck I did. You can take those memories out and have a look any time you want. I’d give anything to have that ability.”

  “You seriously don’t remember a thing?”

  Bud stared up as though trying to grasp at something just beyond reach. “There is one thing I recall, but it feels like the snippet of something bigger. I’m walking in tall grass. The kind you see on those postcards from the prairies. I’m walking through it, and the sun is there, and I can feel it nourishing every cell in my body. I’ve been holding onto that image especially hard, maybe on account that it’s all I have left.”

  Larry was staring off into the darkness outside. “Yeah, well, I’m sure someday all your memories will come back. Question is: Will you want them?”

  They were quiet for what felt to Larry like a long time before he turned and spoke to Bud. “You blurted something out in your sleep last night I was curious about.”

  “I talked in my sleep?”

  Larry nodded. “And snored like a bastard, too. Sounded like you were muttering the name of a place, but it wasn’t clear, and when I nudged you, you turned over and didn’t say another word.”

  All the humor had gone out of Bud’s face. “What’d I say?”

  “Sounded like Brookhaven Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider. That mean anything to you?”

  Alvarez

  Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, CA

  Alvarez and Harry were sitting in a gift shop on the south side of the Golden Gate Bridge, eating deviled egg sandwiches from the soft zip-up cooler Harry brought with him from the motor home. Both men ate in silence. Alvarez was thinking about his wife and son, hoping they were OK and anxious to get to them. He knew well enough, however, that without something to eat, he’d never get there. Even crossing the bridge had taken a gargantuan effort.

  They hadn’t seen a single person since setting out together, except for a dead lady in a car, and even then all Al could see was a whack of bushy-white hair, snuggled against the steering wheel. And that was also assuming you didn’t count the hundreds of bodies he’d seen floating in the Bay.

  As they reached the south side and the orange-roofed gift shop, they certainly must have looked an unlikely pair. An undertaker with a shock of white hair and a vertically challenged Coast Guard sailor. Although in truth, Alvarez was far more concerned with the eerie silence, which seemed to hang over the area. Gone was the incessant squawk of seagulls and the neverending roar of passing cars. In its place, the occasional hum of an engine gurgling its final gallon of gas.

  All those people whose bodies lay bobbing in the frigid Bay waters still confused him. For some reason, they’d run from their cars and straight over the railing, falling to a horrible death. Wasn’t like the bridge was about to collapse or anything. It was built to handle earthquakes, at least within reason.

  Harry glanced up from his sandwich. “You haven’t eaten a thing. Go on, you’re gonna need your strength.”

  Alvarez acknowledged the comment with a nod and took a bite. Something about the eggs tasted a bit off.

  They’ve been sitting in the Harry’s zip cooler for a couple of days now. What do you expect?

  He sipped at a bottle of water as Harry spoke.

  “So tell me, what happened to your commanding officer?”

  The question seemed to suck all the air out of Alvarez’ lungs.

  “S’cuse me?” he said through a mouthful of warm, slightly rotting egg.

  Harry frowned. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re hard of hearing.”

  “I heard you, I just didn’t understand the question is all.”

  “Really? I thought it was pretty clear.”

  Alvarez paused as he searched Harry’s comment for a hint of suspicion. That was impossible, he told himself. The only other person who was there was Dana Hatfield, and with any luck she’d gone and got herself killed. “He didn’t make it,” Al finally said.

  “Hmm, I’m sorry to hear that. How did he die?”

  “Not sure. Something fell over on him during the earthquake, I think.” Alvarez took another bite. If Harry could sense the lie, he wasn’t showing it. “So what were you doing in that motor home? I mean, were you going on vacation or something when all this happened?” Alvarez swung his arm with the sandwich in a wide arc to indicate San Francisco, maybe the world.

  Harry tilted the bottle of water back, took a long pull, and then placed it on the table. “I already told you. I was waiting for you.”

  Goosebumps rolled up Al’s arms. “Oh come on, Man.” Their eyes met, and Al looked away, expecting the old man to be chuckling when he looked back, but he wasn’t.

  “Took you a while; I was beginning to lose hope.”

  Alvarez was the one to laugh. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Listen, if we’re gonna do this thing, you know, pair up for a while and all that till I reach my wife and kid, I don’t need you pulling these mind games, don’t like it one bit.”

  “You might not like my answers, Mr. Alvarez, but I assure you I’m not pl
aying games, and I’m definitely not lying to you. Not the way you’re lying to me.”

  “S’cuse me?”

  “There you go again with the hearing problem.”

  “If you got something on your mind, Old Man, why don’t you to just come right out and say it?” Alvarez’ voice was beginning to rise, and it echoed off the gift shop walls. His fingers had closed around what was left of the sandwich in his hand, reducing it to an unrecognizable glob of pasty white bread and bits of egg. He tossed it on the floor and plucked the other half from the packet. The blood was pounding in his neck now, and Harry sat across from him, watching the vein thrumming wildly.

  Harry cleared his throat. “Was that something like the rage you felt inside when you killed your commanding officer?”

  Alvarez stood up.

  Harry followed him with his eyes.

  Soft, multicolored light was spilling into the shop from outside, dancing off the hard edges of Harry’s withered features .

  “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Alvarez. Do I look like a fool to you?”

  The answer to that one was simple. Even if this Harry character was old enough to be his father, there was a lot going on behind those dark-green eyes of his, and none of it said idiot. “No, you don’t,” Al whispered.

  Slowly and with some difficulty, Harry rose to his feet, standing over Alvarez by what felt to Al like a mile. “Then stop treating me like one, you dumb shit. You’ve been lying and cheating your whole fucking life, haven’t you?”

  “No,” the answer came out in tiny raspy croak that was barely audible.

  “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t lie to me anymore.”

  “Who the hell are you? Some kind of cop?”

  Harry stepped closer and flicked dirt off the shoulder of Al’s crinkled Coast Guard uniform. “I’m here to save you, Mr. Alvarez.”

  “What are you some kind of Jesus freak? Save me from what?”

  “Save you from yourself, of course. You did want to make something of yourself as a youngster, didn’t you? Had high hopes and lofty goals, and then you went to that party and Carlos Martinez asked you to try something, do you remember?”

  Tears of disbelief were welling up behind Alvarez’ eyes. “How do you – ”

  “And you tried it, didn’t you? Oh, you tried the hell out of it. Felt it seeping down into your lungs like black tar. Crack cocaine. They make it sound so crude, don’t they, especially given what a fucking high it gave you. You never could duplicate that first time either, no matter how hard to tried. And oh boy, did you ever try. Things got out of hand for you after that, didn’t they? Wasn’t more than a few weeks before your dream of going to school and making a name for yourself went up in smoke.” Harry smiled. “No pun intended.”

  The tears were rolling freely down Alvarez’ cheeks now. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt ... ”

  “I know you didn’t. You were running scared. Out to save your own skin. That was why Ricky Hildebrand and Keiths had to die; so you wouldn’t go to jail. It was the animal in you that answered the call, Alvarez. Which is exactly why I’m here. Why you were chosen.”

  “I was chosen?” Alvarez asked. His expression seemed distant, detached as though his head were on a kite, flying far above the conversation, tracking thin wispy clouds as they floated by in the breeze.

  Harry’s head rose up and down. “Yes, you were. You asked me before, about the people on the bridge who jumped. I can tell you now, why they all jumped because we’re starting to trust each other now, aren’t we?”

  Alvarez felt his head nodding, almost against his will.

  “They jumped over the railing to their deaths because I asked them to. See, after The Shift, their minds were nothing more than blank slates, a sort of canvas, onto which I could paint whatever I liked. I could control their impulses, and therefore I could control them.”

  “How?” Alvarez asked from far away.

  “You’ll understand soon enough,” Harry replied. “I’ve been around a long time, Mr. Alvarez; each time I return, it’s with a distinct purpose. I’m here to finish what I started. And in the process, I’m here to make you more powerful than your wildest dreams. Will you help me?”

  Even from what seemed like a galaxy away, Alvarez knew there was only one answer that would save his skin the way killing Hildebrand and Keiths had saved him before. He gave that answer, and the man with the white hair and the green sparkling eyes laid a hand on his shoulder, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “Then let’s get started.”

  Finn

  Interstate 15, NV

  Heading along Interstate 15, Finn was still thinking about that last thing Lou had said, about the compass needle reading the opposite of what it should. If he’d doubted a word of it, a quick glance at the Land Rover’s display would have been more than enough to change his mind. The car readouts were telling him he was driving southwest, but all the signs along the highway said otherwise.

  Along the horizon, dark, angry clouds were beginning to strangle the strange lights that had filled the sky since the event. A storm on that scale wasn’t something you often saw in the desert. Finn didn’t have the facts and figures, but he guessed this part of the country didn’t get more than 10 inches of rain a year. Not having all the bits and pieces of his memory often left him feeling rather strange; there were certain things he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, like how to punch a hole in a gas tank to empty what was there. The most troubling part was not having a clue how he knew it. It seemed as though a lot of the daily, mundane details were well within his grasp, but pertinent information, such as how he ended up swimming in a bucket of glop, three stories beneath the desert floor, was frustratingly beyond reach. That was where Bob from Tevatron came in. He might know. If Finn could only get his hands on the man and encourage him to spill his guts, he might just get to the bottom of this.

  The back seat of the Land Rover was filled with more than enough bottles of water and canned goods for the trip he was about to make. Lou and his group had finished clearing out the grocery store and then helped him tie his bag of supplies to the bike. The way back was slow and uneventful. He hadn’t found the gas can he’d gone looking for in the first place, so he’d decided to empty what was left in the five-gallon jug of water to store an emergency ration of gas. The system of filling the jug from the empty windshield washer bottles took much longer than he’d hoped, with the result that he’d been delayed another hour.

  It was currently 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Judging by the distances he was seeing on his map, Salt Lake City was no less than six hours away, and that was under ideal conditions. He certainly wouldn’t be going more than the speed limit. Not that one existed anymore. The new speed limit was simple. Go as fast as you damn well please, without crashing. Not that he expected to see any other cars on the highway. Hadn’t seen any to date. No reason to think anyone else was foolish enough to drive off into the desert, especially in a gas guzzler. But there was a method to his madness. Sure, one of those Volkswagen Beetles might have saved him some fuel, but whenever he needed to do a little off-roading to avoid sections of interstate blocked by abandoned cars, it would have been about as useless as a freezer at the north pole.

  Remaining relatively weaponless – apart from the lead pipe he kept on the passenger seat –was one thing that worried him. Lou was probably sitting on an arsenal, but even a nice guy like that wasn’t willing to part with the only thing standing between him and death at the hands of the maniacs in the city who were already forming into gangs. They didn’t seem to speak, least not a language Finn could understand, but Butcher’s Apron back there at the Buy Low had hollered out a series of grunts that the poor schleps under him seemed to understand.

  One grunt for “attack.” Two grunts for “no attack.”

  The thought made Finn slap the steering wheel with laughter. Also made him feel a little like a crazy guy, laughing at his
own stupid jokes, like those twits who always seemed to pull up next to you at red lights, either picking their noses or singing to themselves.

  No, these grunters were going to be a problem. Finn could tell that right away. They were either too stupid or too hungry to be as scared as they should be. Hell, they’d charged a group of men with guns, wielding little more than sticks and knives. Even his conversation with Jackson and his attempts later with Betsey at Nevada Joe’s had made it perfectly clear these people hadn’t gone crazy. They had simply gotten a serious dose of amnesia, many times worse than his own. All semblance of civilization erased in the blink of a frickin’ eye. They were like those natives that Europeans used to find in the middle of the African bush. They weren’t stupid, they just weren’t tapped into a few thousand years of trial and error like the rest of humanity was. Because in the end, that was all it was, really. Some guy in a lab coat mixes a blue and a red liquid and blows himself sky high. Now the next guy comes along and says, “Red and blue equals dead.” Got it. And on and on and on for thousands of years. People doing stupid-ass shit and then learning from the results. That’s why he was surprised to see how quickly the affected population, effectively starting fresh from square one, had begun banding together. If they ever really got their act together, then everyone else would be in for some serious trouble.

  The rain began pelting the windshield just as that last thought was forming in his mind, and he hoped it wasn’t an omen. Soon, thick drops were drumming against the roof and the glass, bringing his visibility and his speed down to near zero. At one point, Finn wasn’t even sure he was still on the road since after the quake, parts of it were just as uneven and bumpy as driving through the bush. He pulled onto the shoulder. The smell of gas in the car was strong, and Finn cracked the window just enough to feel drops of cool water splashing against his face. If things in the world kept up this way, rain might prove to be a last resort for drinking water. Although he was hopeful that somewhere, a government initiative was underway to restore at least part of the country back to its former self. Maybe Lou had been wrong about the airwaves being mostly static.